Past, Present and Future Tense
by KADH
Summary: Having at last been able to deal with the ghosts of their past, Grissom and Sara are finally able to deal with their future together. Previously titled: Going with the Living Now A/U
1. One

**Going with the Living**

Having at last been able to deal with the ghosts of their past, Grissom and Sara are finally able to deal with their future together.

_Part of the Time series. Follows "The Good Fight," "Closing Arguments," "Reconciliation," "Admitting Impediments," "Engaging Conversations" and "When the Dead Can't Wait" and takes places post season eight, circa February 2009._

**One**

Just barely audible over the clink of glass and the rush of running water, Grissom said vaguely, "I've really missed working with you."

Sara gave him a grin as she handed him a soapy plate to rinse and dry. "I'm sure there will always be plenty of dishes to be done," she replied.

"Not that kind of work, dear," he corrected, sounding slightly amused despite his pensive demeanor.

She shot him a half-inquisitive, half-sad sort of look and waited for him to continue. Instead, he merely took from her the glass she was in the midst of cleaning. She shook her head and sighed and went back to washing.

"It's just that I always enjoyed working with you --" he began. "Well, most of the time..."

"You mean except for those years we were avoiding each other at all costs?"

"It wasn't that long, was it?" Grissom asked, sounding suddenly concerned.

"Felt like it."

"True," he agreed. "But later -- after you and I..." His voice trailed off as he met her gaze and she couldn't help but return the affectionate smile. "It was like it was in the beginning, only better."

Her eyes crinkled in delight. "Is that," she began, "why you teamed us up alone together so often then? Merely because you enjoyed my company?"

"Hardly," he replied, extending his hand for the mug she was holding.

"Or were you just concerned that people would start to suspect if they saw us together?" She asked, not relinquishing it until he answered.

"No. You were -- are -- a great criminalist."

Sara flushed with the compliment. "We did make a pretty good team, didn't we?" She said after a while.

Grissom nodded. For a few minutes, they went back to the tasks of washing and rinsing and drying in that easy sort of way that had naturally developed over the years. But as the time continued to pass, Sara noticed that his movements had slowed as if he were no longer really present, but rather a million miles away, lost in thought. She paused and placed a still damp hand on his arm.

"You okay?" She asked.

Rather than answering, he seemed to be intently focused on the plate he was so assiduously drying. That done, he unhurriedly put it aside. He didn't look up at her when he eventually said, "I wanted to discuss it with you first, but I was planning on tendering my resignation when we got back to Vegas."

It took her a several long moments before she could stammer out her reply of "What? How? Why?"

"Which question do you want me to answer first?" He asked, trying now to give her a reassuring smile.

She mouthed wordlessly, unable to get her head around the fact that he was so calm and collected about this. In the end, all she could manage to get out was, "But it's your life. Your job has always meant everything to you --"

"Not anymore. Not anymore," he insisted. "There are more important things. _You_. _Us_."

"But it's your life," she protested again. "Gil, just because I threw mine away doesn't mean --"

"I'm not," he said, covering her hand with his. "I'm making a new one. Come on." He gently tugged her out of the kitchen and into the living room before easing her onto the sofa. "Not too long ago, a friend of mine reminded me that my job wasn't my life. It might be a part of my life, but it isn't my whole life. And I can't just spend the rest of that life hiding behind my work just to get out of having to live that life."

"But the lab -- the team --" she started.

"I'm not that irreplaceable, Sara," Grissom answered. "They can manage just fine without me -- as Catherine keeps reminding me.

"Besides, if she decides to stay on, she's more than qualified and capable to take over. She knows the science and can play politics with the big boys better than I ever could.

"Beyond that, Honey, I'm tired. I've been tired a long time. But with Warrick's case still open, I couldn't just go... now that it is done, I finally can.

"It's time. Like I told him once, I'm a teacher who's run out of students. I've outlived my usefulness.

"Besides, I never wanted to become an administrator. After Holly died, it just all happened so fast and then it couldn't be undone. Pretty soon I was pushing more paper than practicing science. That's not me. It never has been."

He took her hand and squeezed it firmly. "It's time," he said resolutely.

Sara nodded, understanding just how that worked. "So, you're just going to retire then?" She asked.

"No," Grissom answered. "It seems that I've reached a point in my career where I can dictate my own terms."

She shook her head and pursed her lips in exasperation. "I think you reached that a long time ago," she countered.

"Probably," he admitted. "But I've never felt the need or had the occasion to make need of it. Until now.

"UNLV wants to develop a hands-on practicum program in forensic science. They asked me to chair the committee and then help with the implementation," he explained. "The curriculum will be mostly field work, with some theory. All run with a little help from the LVPD and CSI from time to time, as well as the county coroner's office and the body farm."

"I can see why they wanted you so badly," Sara grinned appreciatively. "Apart from your natural charm and brilliance, I mean."

Grissom smiled back, but made no comment on her remarks. Instead, he said, "I told them I would consider it, but only upon a few conditions."

"Less paperwork, more science," she suggested.

"There was that, yes."

"And?"

"You know, Chen from Swing was always going on about how good you were with Ronnie," he began, his tone suddenly more self-conscious than usual.

"Yeah, right," she answered, rolling her eyes. "The twenty question limit rule was a great training strategy."

"Besides you worked wonders with Greg."

"You're stalling, Gil."

"I told them I would only do it if I could bring whomever I wanted along with me," he replied. Then he met her eyes and finally said, "It want that to be you."

Which left her speechless yet again. "While I appreciate the thought, doesn't that violate some sort of nepotism clause?" She asked, still slightly agog. "Besides, we both know that I'm not that good with living people."

"And I am?" He queried in return. "Sara, you know the science, the research, the techniques; you have the field experience. And while you might not think it, you do have the talent and patience to pass on those things to other people."

"All I have are degrees in mathematics and physics, nothing in forensics."

"Neither do I."

"But you do have the _Doctor_ to go in front of your name, _Doctor Grissom_. People respect that. They respect _you_. I don't want to be just some glorified teaching assistant whom everybody knows just got the job because she's sleeping with the professor."

"It wouldn't be like that," he argued. "We could team teach or you can teach on your own classes. You wouldn't be tenure track, but the university has no problem or issues with you being a full faculty member. Nor do they have a problem with us sleeping together, or being married for that matter."

"You discussed this with them?"

"A few days ago, yes. When they called again."

"So, you're serious."

"Yes. The program will take some time to research and develop as it has to be designed from scratch, along with the curriculum for the individual courses. It's going to be a monumental task and one I cannot do alone. I don't know anyone else I would or could trust to help me with it than you.

"Sara, this time I'm not asking you to do this for me, for you to come because I personally want or need you to. I'm asking you because you are one of the best criminalists I have ever had the privilege to work with. Besides," he continued, doing his best to give her a winning smile. "I believe it was you who told me that we made a good team." When Sara persisted in looking perplexed and overwhelmed, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and said, "I'm not looking for an answer right now. There is plenty of time to think about it. So, just think about it."

But she readily replied, "I don't need to think about it," and meant it. She didn't.

Just as she hadn't needed to think about it when he had called to ask her to come to Vegas to help him out more than eight years ago, she didn't need to think about it now.

She remembered the words she had once spoken to Brass when he had asked her if he should take the mother of a dead child to the morgue or to the hospital to see her other children first -- _Go with the living, the dead can wait_. It was time for her to heed her own advice. True, the ghosts would never be truly gone, but she had a choice. She could choose to go with the living or to stay among the dead.

It was time to go with the living.

"So, it's a _no_ then," Grissom replied, trying to keep the disappointment out of his words.

"No," she said, reaching up to caress his cheek. "It's a _yes_." She leaned in and kissed him gently. When she pulled away, she said with a wry sort of grin, "But I am not grading your papers or doing your photocopying."

"Of course not."

"Does this mean we get to gross out the students?"

"Not on the first day."

"This from the man who used to terrorize new hires?" Sara teased. "You know there are some people who would consider making newbies donate a pint of their own blood to your little experiments to be a form of hazing."

"We won't be poking the students with needles, I promise."

"Good to know," she replied, nodding her head in amusement. "So this means I am going to be working for you again then."

"I prefer to think of it as a partnership," he qualified. "All above board this time."

"Does this mean I have to call you _Dr. Grissom_ again?"

"Please, no," he pleaded. "I hated being called that eleven years ago."

"Since I really don't think you want me calling you_ Gilbert _in front of the students, I guess I will be back to calling you _Grissom _again. Although," she said with a laugh. "That might prove to be confusing."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because we'll both have the same last name."

"We will?" He asked and Sara simply nodded. They had never really discussed what her last name would be once they were married. He had wanted it to be purely her decision and while he was in part pleased by her choice, he was still a little surprised. "I can see how that might be confusing," he said after a moment. "But they are allowing students to call their instructors by their first names nowadays," he suggested.

"There is no way some pip squeak college sophomore gets to call you _Gil_ after one class, when I had to wait almost seven years," she protested.

"So what then?"

"I guess we are back to _Grissom and Sara_ again."

"I don't have any problems with that," Grissom replied. "Just as long as you don't start calling me that in private again."

"Okay. But no secrets this time," she maintained.

"I think it might be rather hard to hide the fact that we're together when we are married, have the same last name and live together."

"True."

He took both of her hands in his. "We can make this work, Sara. I know we can," he asserted.

"Of that, I have no doubt."

"Then I'll start making the calls when we get back. Hand in my notice. Put in for some vacation time."

"Vacation time?" She asked in astonishment. "You are going to quit and then ask for time off?"

"No, I was planning to ask for the time off first," he rejoined.

"For?"

Grissom smiled and said, "I'd really like to have a honeymoon with you that lasts a little longer than just a few days."

For her part, Sara merely replied, in a tone that was both serious and mischievous all at once, "Only if you let me pick the place."

He gave her a one of his patented raised eyebrow looks, but said nothing.

"Is your passport current?" She asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"You'll see."

"That's it?" He asked.

"That is all I am going to tell you, yes," Sara answered as she rose and began to stride back into the kitchen. With a twinkle in her eye, she peered back at him over her shoulder and said, "After all, turn about is fair play."

"Touché."


	2. Two

**Two**

"This," Sara murmured, still a little drowsy, "is a lot more comfortable than sleeping on the couch."

Grissom slipped an arm around her and drew her to him until she was nestled snug and warm against his side and her head rested on his chest.

"The one at home isn't that much better," he replied, his fingers lazily brushing along the side of her neck.

Sara sighed and listened for a moment to the soothing, steady rhythm of his heart beating against her ear, all the while thinking _yeah right_ and remembering just how comfortable it had been to fall asleep on his oversized sofa every now and again. But the more she thought about it, she realized it had probably been the company and not the actual couch that had really made it so.

That and the fact that it seemed she had not been alone in having more often than not, woken up on the sofa rather than the bed made her ask, "You, too?" in a voice that was sadly bemused.

He nodded glumly and placed a kiss in her hair. "I know we hadn't been sharing a bed much once you moved to swing..."

She looked up at him, her smile more rueful than anything. "That wasn't one of our brighter ideas..." she admitted.

"While it seemed to make rational and logical sense at the time for us to sleep at our own places because of our schedules," he said, brushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. "I wish we hadn't been so practical."

"If we hadn't, neither of us would have slept much."

Grissom's eyebrow rose.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Gil," she chided, elbowing him slightly.

He tried to look hurt, but failed miserably and they both knew it.

"You weren't sleeping much anyway," he whispered as she settled back against him. Sara merely nodded. "I missed you even then," he said, leaning in and burying his nose in her hair to breathe in deep that comforting scent of her. "But with you gone, the bed just seemed too big. Then when I did actually make it there, I kept finding myself migrating to your side. It just felt more... comfortable because for a long time, the pillows still smelled like your shampoo."

"I hope you washed the sheets at least."

"I did," he said with the hint of a grin in his voice which made her smile, for the tease had in part, been borne out of the desire to inject a bit of levity into the conversation for Grissom's sake, but also in order to help mitigate her own feelings of regret for so much time lost.

She continued to keep her tone intentionally light when she said, "Bet Hank loved having it all to himself for while."

"No," he replied. "He chose to sleep on the living room rug."

"And why did he never do that when I was there?" Sara said, shaking her head in amusement. "I swear that dog took up one half of the bed and you the other."

"I think you have that backwards, dear," Grissom corrected her.

"Are you accusing me of hogging the bed?" She asked, peering up at him incredulously.

"Of course not," he deadpanned. "Just the blankets and pillows and most of the space." Then after a moment, "I missed that, too."

She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed them gently as she whispered, "Me, too."

Grissom ran his free hand along her arm. "Hank missed you, as well," he whispered. "I wasn't home much and it turns out not as generous with tummy rubs."

"I heard."

"Hank called to complain?" He questioned with a half-laugh.

"No, about you not being home much," she replied. "And you working too hard."

"I thought it would help, after you left and then after Warrick..." Grissom's voice trailed off and he was silent for a long time. "It didn't," he finally admitted.

Sara nodded, knowing all to well how that worked and said, "But you continued to do it anyway."

"Well, not always by choice," he countered.

"I honestly believe that Ecklie has his phone set to automatically dial your number when it opens," she said ruefully.

"Feels like it sometimes."

"I guess some things never change," She sighed.

"What about you?"

"Me?" She asked absently.

"And your sofa," he replied, gesturing to the couch in the corner.

Sara followed his gaze. "The first two weeks, I just slept," she answered. "Like the dead, I guess."

"But then you stopped," he rejoined softly. They both knew it wasn't a question.

"Yeah."

"Nightmares?"

"Sometimes," she freely confessed, but it was her voice that trailed off slightly this time as she added, "Not any worse than those after..."

Grissom knew all too well about those particular nightmares, not the agonizing details perhaps, but the aftermath, at least up until the point where Sara had switched shifts and their schedules had become so insane that they barely seemed to see each other, let alone have opportunities to share a bed for a whole afternoon or evening.

While the nightmares were never welcome, he had missed being there for her for them, for even though she never complained of them, he still knew they haunted her like they always had.

Then when his own fears, too, had begun to play themselves out when he slept, he had missed waking up to the reassuring presence of her warm and whole and alive beside him.

But Sara did not seem to want to talk about errant dreams now, and truth be told, neither did he, so he was more than partly relieved when she quickly moved to divert the topic -- until he realized that that meant he would be the one under the microscope.

"How have the migraines been?" She asked.

Like her, he didn't see the point in lying.

"Worse," he said.

"The new medicine helping any?"

"Not really."

"What did the doctor say?"

Grissom paused for a very long moment before replying, "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Sara echoed as she pulled away to stare at him in disbelief. "Nothing as in _you never went in to see her_ nothing?"

He nodded.

"Gil --" she began.

But he cut her off with a hopeful sort of guilty smile and said, "I suppose I should be happy I didn't merit a _Gilbert_ for that one," he mused.

"Probably... _Gilbert_."

They shared the smile this time.

"I even missed that," he replied, smoothing her hair.

"Me calling you '_Gilbert_'?" She queried, relaxing against him again.

"No, well yes, but more you harping on me to take better care of myself. Then I might have avoided that case of walking pneumonia."

"That you somehow managed to pretty much work through," she said in an exasperated tone.

"Yeah, well there are just some people you can't say _no_ to."

"Like Deputy DA Klein," Sara supplied.

"Yeah, well I found out the hard way that if you keep ignoring phone calls, people just start showing up at your door," he replied.

"You really should have trained Hank to be a better guard dog, to keep those pesky visitors out," she teased.

"Yeah, well Hank is about as good at that as Miss Piggy was as keeper of my spare keys," he replied. "Maddie, Catherine and Jim all showed up in the space of less than twelve hours."

"Bringing tissues and hot tea and chicken soup, I hope," Sara said, knowing full well the unlikelihood of that ever happening.

"Nope. Just more work."

"No commiserating at all? Not even a get well card?"

"No," he said shaking his head with a sigh. "Maddie -- Well, Maddie is just Maddie."

"True," Sara rued. She hadn't had that much contact with the Deputy DA over the years, but the ones she had were memorable to say the least. There was something to be said for that woman's tenacity and determination, even if it did come off as dominating and overbearing.

"Jim wanted talk, which is fine," Grissom continued. "But all Catherine had were twenty questions. You," he said, kissing the top of her head, "were the only one sympathetic to me at all."

Sara chuckled. "Yeah, well like I told you on the phone then -- if you greet Ecklie with the same tone as you did when I called, it's no wonder the man calls you all the time."

"So not funny, dear," he retorted, though he was smiling broadly.

"You laughed then," she countered.

"I needed it. And the smile."

Her tone turned from playful to being tinged with regret. "I should have come."

He shook his head. "Half the lab was working sick," he maintained. "There wouldn't have been much point. Besides, I don't think I even managed to get a full day off then anyway."

"Still, I wish I would have been there for you."

"You were."

Sara's smile mimicked his own for a moment and then as if something he had said earlier had finally clicked, Sara asked, "'_Twenty questions'_?"

"What?" He inquired in return.

"You said you got '_twenty questions'_ from Catherine -- about what?"

"Actually," he began slightly bemused as he did so, "it was more like one question at home that somehow turned into twenty when I got back in the lab."

"About?" She asked again, a bit more insistent this time.

"Us, actually. You -- me -- how long we'd been seeing each other --"

"Ah, _that _question," Sara replied with a laugh. "Ecklie must be rubbing off on her again. So what did you tell her?" She asked. "Because if I recall correctly, you and I seemed to have rather different answers to that question when Ecklie finally came around to asked it." But before he could reply, this time she was one sounding strangely dumbfounded when she said, "You know, I never did understand why it took him so long. The rumor mill running slower than usual or was he just waiting for one of us to admit what had become rather obvious?"

"Perhaps that delay might have explained why he seemed more than a little angry when he stormed into my office to talk about it," Grissom reasoned.

"In his defense," Sara retorted, "you were, as I recall, rather avidly avoiding him."

"True," he conceded with an unapologetic grin.

"You and I... We never did come to a consensus on the issue either."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then bemused again. "I believe you were too busy laughing at my answer, dear," he replied.

"You know, my answer to his first question really wasn't all that different than yours," she said, looking more pleased than pensive, yet contemplative all the same.

"His first question?"

"Yeah," she answered with a nod. "He wanted to know when we began our _relationship_."

"And you told him --"

She was smiling broadly now, the smile that made her eyes sparkle and dance. "Same thing you did," Sara said. "But with probably a little more defiance than what was prudent.

"In the end, I think he realized that he'd actually have to ask _that_ question if he wanted to find out what he really wanted to know. I believe he chose to use the phrase _become intimate_."

"Which is how you came up with the answer of _two years_."

"And that I thought it had been on a Sunday," she added.

Grissom looked confused for a moment. "Sara, it wasn't a Sunday when we..."

"I know that," she replied, utterly nonchalant.

"So you lied?"

"No. It was on a Sunday." When he still looked bewildered, she said with a grin more bent on teasing than anything, "Don't tell me that you are as narrow minded as Ecklie when it comes to what that particular word can mean?"

He was quiet for a moment, remembering and upon realizing just what she was referring to smiled, too, but differently than before.

Sara knew that Grissom smiles could often be quite rare, more so at work than when they were alone together, although they were not as rare as his laughter, but still, so she treasured them accordingly.

By now though, she knew most of them and what they meant. There was the mischievous little grin he would get when he was plotting or planning something. That knowing grin when he had just figured out the answer or had made some discovery and of course, wasn't telling, which differed from his _a ha!_ smile that emerged when things worked out better than he planned. There was also the smile that feigned innocence when nothing could be further from the truth. But Sara's favorite Grissom smile was the one she knew was reserved only for her, the one that extended all the way to his eyes and made them seem to gleam. It was a smile of joy and peace and hope and love.

It was that smile he was giving her now as he shook his head in reply before adding, "Conrad was never very good at knowing just the right question to ask. But at least what he asked you was a little less crass than the only question he asked me then."

"Which was?"

"I believe his exact words were '_So when did you two, you know --_'"

"Well, that was a bit more obvious a question," Sara laughed. "And as I know we didn't sleep together ten years ago, you weren't talking about sex when you answered either."

"No."

"I guess can know see how he was confused -- and us. When you ask two people two different questions, you are bound to end up with two very different answers."

"True," he agreed.

"So what did you end up telling Catherine when she asked you how long we had been together?"

"I said I was late for court."

Sara shook her head in chagrin and said, "And you were somehow surprised that that response lead to a game of twenty questions later? So?" She asked and waited for him to answer. When none seemed to be forthcoming, she sighed, "Come on, I'm sure you had to tell her something. Reveal anything juicy?"

"You know a gentleman never tells."

"I thought it was a _lady who never tells_ and a _gentleman who never asks_ which means that Catherine is actually allowed to ask, as am I," she returned. "What prompted the original question in the first place?"

"My apartment apparently," Grissom answered.

"Well, Catherine's ability to read a room is legendary and useful, but not when it's your house."

"That and the picture on the fridge," he answered.

"Which picture was that?"

"The one of those two of us in San Francisco."

"From the Forensic Sciences Convention in '98?" Sara asked genuinely taken aback. "I didn't know you even kept that."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I would have never pegged you for a sentimentalist, Gil," she replied, still a bit mystified.

"Thanks, dear," Grissom said with a sigh. "It was the smile," he added after a few minutes.

"What was?"

"The reason I kept it. Why it was on the fridge. Your smile. I missed it."

At this Sara, couldn't help but grin. "If I remember correctly, I think you were smiling then, too."

"True."

"However did we end up in Golden Gate Park in the first place?" She asked.

"Well, there were all those questions of yours," he replied mischievously. When she gave him a _you're being incorrigible look_, he added, "I think we just started talking and walking and I just assumed you knew where we were going since you were the one who lived here at the time so I followed your lead and --"

"Goes to show what the esteemed Dr. Gil Grissom really knew," Sara chuckled. "Like told you before, I never saw much more than the inside of the lab in those days."

"And that changed how when you came to Vegas?" He queried.

She shot him a dirty look, which he chose to ignore. So instead she asked him,

"Why did you have your camera with you that day anyway? You've never struck me as the kind of person who likes to shoot a lot of cheesy _this is where I went on my trip_ sort of photos."

"It was purely for business," he replied. "Director Covallo wanted me to get some shots of who knows what at the conference while I was there and I just happened to have it with me when I was with you."

"It made you look like a tourist," she teased.

"You didn't seem to have any problems with tourists," he countered. "If I recall correctly, that young Japanese couple was really appreciative when you offered to stop and take their picture for them."

Sara nodded. "So appreciative they insisted that they do the same for us."

"Yeah."

"And the guy kept saying, 'Closer, closer.'"

"I think he thought we were --" His voice trailed off slightly.

"Probably," she agreed. "You did put your hand on my shoulder for the picture though."

"You didn't seem to mind."

"Neither did you."

"No."

"And you kept the photo."

Grissom nodded. "While risking playing into a stereotype, Japanese tourists do know how to take good pictures."

Sara laughed, "But that wasn't why you kept it then."

"Like I said, it was the smile."

"And it was a good afternoon. Even if it did get unceremoniously interrupted."

"You got called in, if I recall," he supplied.

She nodded and lamented, "Isn't that how it always works? I am convinced that pagers and cell phones somehow know exactly the most inopportune moment to go off.

"You and me and Franco from nights spending the rest of the day and the night over a pair of dead bodies was not what I really had in mind.

"But Martin," she laughed. "Martin was sure as hell glad to hear that the eminent Dr. Grissom that we had all read so much about had asked if he could to 'tag along' as I believed you phrased it."

Grissom sighed. "I thought they buried that interview. Besides, that article came out a year and half before the conference."

"I guess you were just memorable then," Sara replied.

"I thought I was rather_ dull as a speaker_," he rejoined. "Or so I've been told."

"I never said that..."

"Yes, you did... two dead bodies and a chainsaw in a garage..." he prompted.

"I said, I had _heard_ you were rather dull... I never said I thought you were. You," she said, kissing him fondly, "just never could accept the fact that you have a fan club."

"Probably because I could never understand why."

"We were all in a little in awe of you back then," she said. "I think Hodges still is..."

"Yeah, he read the article, too, it turns out..." Grissom replied ruefully. "I've never really cared for pedestals. For a long time, I worried that was all it was..."

"What?"

"Your feelings... the attraction. You only seeing the me you wanted to see, that it was really just some sort of ideal you were interested in."

"For a long time, you didn't give me much chance to see anything else," she rejoined.

"I was scared."

"I know," she said nodding and giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "You know, the one good thing about being called in to work was that I did get to see the illustrious Dr. Grissom in action for myself."

"There wasn't really that much to see. It was a simple case."

"Maybe to you," Sara replied with an exasperated shake of the head.

"Just elementary analysis stuff you already knew all about," he continued, seemingly ignoring her remark.

"Right, like I really knew anything back then. I don't know how you put up with me, I think I was worse than Greg even," she sighed.

"Not possible," Grissom insisted. "Besides, you had much better fashion sense and better taste in music and taste in general. Plus, you had drive and determination and focus going for you, too. Apart from the beauty and the brains," he countered matter of factly.

"Gil Grissom, you are beginning to sound like you want something."

"Why do you say that?" He asked genuinely confused.

"'_You had drive and determination and focus' _and_ "beauty and brains_,'" she supplied. "You think you just might have been exaggerating a lot there?"

"Not in the least," he readily replied. "At the time, it was a purely objective scientific observation."

"Right," Sara said, shaking her head in disbelief. "And that's why you told Ecklie _nine years_ -- Based on a _purely objective scientific observation_?" When Grissom didn't answer, she said with a sad sort of smile, "I never did get up the nerve to ask you to dinner back then or really had the chance to I guess. Then for some reason, it took me another five years to finally do it."

"Only for me to tell you no," Grissom sighed.

"Well, we did get to it eventually," Sara offered. "Although I do suppose that waiting seven years to have a first date isn't your conventional sort of courtship behavior."

"Probably not."

"Convention is over-rated anyway," she said, touching his cheek tenderly. "That was a good time, too -- that date."

"Which the part?" He asked with a sheepish sort of grin. "The one where the minute I got there I chewed you out for not locking your door or when I burned dinner and managed to break the casserole dish, which you ended up cleaning up? Or when you cut your finger and then I cracked you on the knee with the cabinet door before I banged my head and almost knocked myself out? And all of that before dinner was even served."

"It was memorable at least."

"And then when things finally calmed down, we got called in for a case."

"I have to admit there was that, too," Sara conceded reluctantly. "But you left out helping me with my shoes and my dress and into the car and the lovely flowers, and you in that suit and the dinner that turned out great anyway and the impromptu dance lessons in the living room and the fact that you treated me better in just that one night than anyone else ever had the entire rest of my life."

"It was my pleasure."

"And mine," she said and that smile was back again.

"Actually I wasn't completely honest when I said there wasn't something I wanted..." Grissom whispered.

"Oh?" She asked.

He merely smiled slightly.

"Whatever am I going to do with you?" Sara questioned, shaking her head in bemusement as she did so.

His mock innocent look turned slightly suggestive.

"Well, I suppose I could think of something to do to occupy my time until I have to start getting ready. Today being the big day and all," she grinned. "You know," she continued after a moment, "I did take up knitting recently."

He goggled at her.

"Well, as TV isn't any better at four in the morning than it is at four in the afternoon --"

"Is that why your TV is the closet?"

"Between the strike and the boredom it was that or out the window... So that left me with knitting or cooking," she explained as if he hadn't interrupted. "And you know that I can even manage to burn things in the microwave.

"Besides, I thought it would be better to wait for your next installment in the series of _The Chemistry of Cooking _demonstrations before I risked anything else at this point." When Grissom continued to look both perplexed and a little disappointed, Sara leaned in and kissed him. "Although right now I don't think that really is the type of chemistry either of us has in mind."

"Have you taken up mind reading, too, my dear?"

Sara smirked, "In this case I don't think mind reading is required."

"Oh?"

"Didn't you know, Gil," she replied, her face alight with mischief, "it's always your eyes that give you away."

"And what are they telling you?" He asked.

"That neither of us have any intention of rolling over and going back to sleep."

"So no knitting then --"

"No, dear," she answered.

_Series continued in "Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue."_


End file.
